


overbearing and underdressed

by lady__sansa_stark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A very dumb little fic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Sansa who's in doubt of what she wants, Bit of overbearing father-esque petey, F/M, summer time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 11:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19722883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady__sansa_stark/pseuds/lady__sansa_stark
Summary: Sansa is tired of her uncle playing the overprotective father, and decides to trick him to sneak out.





	overbearing and underdressed

**Author's Note:**

> [ Not where I planned for this to go but idk here it is
> 
> And happy summer to everyone where it’s summer! Stay cool and fresh, friends~ ]

“No.”

Sansa whirled around, her sandals digging into the side of her toes. One hand was on the front door’s handle, the other on her purse, and both clenched at the word. She knew exactly what that  _ No _ was about (this was hardly the first time), and yet Sansa felt her chest rising in indignation. “No?”

His footsteps were even as he approached, stopping well enough away to make Sansa believe he was simply being the  _ overprotective father _ . Her uncle Petyr was a generally kind man. Not quite as old as her parents, affable, and never afraid to crack jokes at everything and anything. He was considerably more gracious letting Sansa stay in the Eyrie during summer than her aunt Lysa was. Lysa, meanwhile, made sure she was conveniently somewhere else in the house. Still, a month had already passed, and Sansa had yet to decipher his many steadfast refusals to let her do anything fun (maybe she was sounding a bit childish, but she only had so much summer break left before the joys of work took that away. It was a blessing and a curse not to have found an internship). Was it truly just Petyr playing up that tropey protective father (though technically an uncle)? Sansa didn’t think he owned a shotgun, but she didn’t want to test her theory bringing any guy friends over. 

Did Petyr want to scold her for her late nights doing dumb stuff, coming home in the wee hours before dawn?

Or did he want to  _ scold _ her?

“No, Sansa,” he repeated. “You’re not going to meet your boyfriend wearing  _ that _ .”

“Harry’s not my  _ boyfriend _ .” Sansa was losing track how many times they’ve had this argument. In truth, she was ‘sneaking out’ now because she’d thought she heard the telltale amore in her aunt’s voice. One: Sansa  _ did not _ want to know what her aunt Lysa sounded like hot and heavy, nothankyouverymuch. Two: Sansa didn’t want to have this conversation for the however-many-times-this-made-it. “He’s dating Randa, anyways.”

“And he’s thought about threesomes with the both of you.”

“Gross.”

“He’s a guy. He’ll have a field day jacking off with the way you’re dressed.”

Sansa turned away from him, twisting the handle. Oh, she definitely didn’t want to have  _ this _ conversation either. It was bad enough her own parents trying to give her  _ the talk _ . 

The door slammed; Petyr was quick and silent, his hand shoving against the glass. “You’re going upstairs and changing right now, Sansa, or you’re not going out at all.”

“You’re not my father, and I’m not a child.” Even if Sansa sounded like it. Admittedly, she had to fight her arms from crossing over her chest. “I’m going out.”

He motioned to her body with his chin. “Not dressed like  _ that _ , you aren’t.”

Sansa stepped back. He was far too close for comfort. Or, to grab her and carry her upstairs, lock her in her room, and demand her to change like the horrid stepmother that Sansa thought  _ Lysa _ was meant to be in this situation. Besides: if she was smart about it, Sansa might be able to run for the back door before Petyr had a chance to do that. “And what’s so  _ offensive _ about my clothes? It’s summer, uncle. You expect me to go walking out in sweats? I’d die.”

“It’s not so hot that you need to wear that.”

_ That _ was a loose shirt and shorts. Inappropriate? Sansa didn’t think so. Her shirt wasn’t even long enough for that  _ wait are they wearing shorts under that? _ double-take. “Perhaps for someone like you it’s cold. But this is hot for the North, and I’m going out wearing this.” She leaned as subtly as she could away from the door. “Besides, don’t you have someone else to deal with right now? Seems rude to leave her and start picking fights about my fashion.”

Petyr’s mouth twitched. “I’d prefer if the both of you chose to wear better clothes. You especially.”

“Because the Vale is full of dangerous men?”

“Yes. Your friend Harry isn’t excluded because he’s your friend.”

_ And what about my darling uncle? _ Sansa bit her tongue; there wasn’t  _ proof _ . If Petyr were some wretched monster craving the sweet sin of debasing his niece, well, Sansa imagined he’d want her to wear  _ less _ , not more. “Randa and I can take him if he ever does something stupid.”  _ Besides, he’s a boob man, and Myranda’s got me well beat in that contest. _

“Good for you,” he said flatly. His tongue licked over his teeth. “Now, go and change, Sansa.”

_ Seriously? _

A thought passed through her brain, one Sansa might have shook away in any other case. Not this time.

Sansa smiled, one of the ones that hurt her cheeks. It took Petyr off guard. “Of course,  _ dearest uncle _ . Anything you say.”

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and tugged hard. Her shorts pooled around her ankles (thank the gods Sansa didn’t wear the ones that clung tightly to her ass, or she’d be jumping around like a fool. She had her swimsuit to change into when she got to Randa’s. Now all she had to do was make a mad dash for her car in her underwear, and  _ bam _ she was in the clear). Sansa disentangled her feet, shucking the shorts off and away.

Petyr stood there, eyes wide. Not quite like a fool. More like…

Someone who was  _ very hungry _ .

_ Go now! _ Her brain urged.  _ Go while he’s distracted! _

Distracted by the shape of Sansa’s legs, bare from any pesky shorts; Petyr’s eyes were slow, soaking her in from foot to hip, suddenly unashamed of doing it while Sansa was watching. She suddenly wondered how often he found himself behind her, and doing just this whilst she was unaware.

Did he think of anything else?

_ Who cares,  _ the thankfully-logically part of her brain rushed,  _ but you need to go now! _

Right. 

Sansa lunged for the door. It flew wide and fast, knocking Petyr in the shoulder and tearing him away from his shameless exploration. Not even noon and the outside air was hot (extra hot against extra bare legs). Sansa ran for it. Her sandals slapped loudly, almost as loud as her heart.

(Because she tricked him. Not because of...other things. Nope, definitely not).

“Where do you think you’re going?” Petyr growled after her. A sound that sent a shiver down her body (because it was scary, yes, that’s all). His body finally found itself, reaching for her arm – Sansa felt his fingertips against her skin – and missing. 

(What if he hadn’t?)

Her car was at the end of the drive. A straight shot if she cut through the yard and dealt with Lysa’s temper tantrum later. Sansa had a mad uncle on her tail – this was no time to be worrying about the grass. 

“Get back here  _ now _ , Sansa!”

Oh no no no, she definitely was  _ not _ , not with the way Petyr sounded. Pissed off? Definitely. Annoyed at being tricked? Most likely. Dying to know what lay beneath the rest of Sansa’s clothes?

(Don’t even think about that right now).

Sansa ducked under a line of plumerias, branches nipping at her hair. She landed, ran, and hardly two seconds later she heard the heavy  _ crunch _ of Petyr as he followed her.

_ Crap _ .

Sansa pushed her legs faster, her purse smacking against her hip with each step. Her keys were in her hand, threaded through fingers on instinct.

“Sansa!”

Jumping the canyon of tulips on the lawn’s edge, Sansa reached for her car door. She  _ beeped _ it close the moment she opened it, not willing to waste time fumbling with the lock.  _ In in in! _

And  _ slam _ . 

First the door.

Then Petyr.

“Ow, fuck,” Sansa swore, buckling up against the hot bite of the seat belt on her bare skin. 

But she did it. Sansa looked at him through her window, choosing to complete her childish escapade by sticking her tongue out at him.  _ Ha, there! _ she said.  _ I won! _

Petyr didn’t look at all amused, as disheveled and panting as he was chasing after her. His eyes were almost as dark as the gaze he aimed at her (one that Sansa tried to tear her own eyes away from). He smacked the window, jolting Sansa’s body back to action. “Open up,  _ now _ Sansa.” 

Would he be crazy enough to stand behind her so she couldn’t back out? Sansa wasn’t willing to risk giving him time for that thought. Her car rumbled to life, and she was already tearing down the driveway before Petyr had the idea to do something stupid.

Stupider than tricking someone like she just had? 

(Sansa wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was running through his mind right now).

He strode to the end of the drive, watching her pull back and away. Petyr had her shorts clenched in his hand, as though finally allowing Sansa to leave the house  _ dressed like that _ (shorts and shirt) was okay if the alternative was something worse (underwear).

Oh, if only Sansa had thought of this sooner! Every part of her felt excited, giddy; now with the fear of being caught gone, she couldn’t help but smile. Laugh. She did it! Though, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pull it off twice. Pity.

Sansa fumbled with the radio, finding something fast and bass-heavy to mimic the thrill in her veins. She knew maybe half the chorus, but that didn’t stop her from belting out words.

Her phone buzzed - Myranda most likely, wanting to know if she was on her way yet - and Sansa did the responsible thing of waiting for a red light before fishing it out of her purse. 

It was a careful act, texting without looking like you were texting. Sansa positioned her phone carefully on her bare thigh- 

It fell off her leg and between the seats.

Not because she was clumsy.

But because Sansa only realized now that she’d dropped more than her shorts.

Sansa stared at her legs, disbelieving. Maybe if she blinked hard enough, they would come back. Blink. Nope.

Bliiiink. Nope.

Bliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink.

Nope.

The car behind her honked. The light was green, and Sansa was still sitting in her car, completely naked from the waist down. The adrenaline  _ zipped _ out of her blood so quick, turning frozen. Sansa was far too aware now of the seat on her bare skin. 

_ Hoooooooooooooonk _ .

“Shit, sorry, sorry!” she said to the car behind her, revving fast. She grabbed her purse and flung it down on top of her waist, praying no one else saw her. 

Gods.

_ Gods _ .

No wonder Petyr was so awe-struck.

A few streets more, and Sansa pulled up into a quieter corner of a park, fishing through her purse for her swimsuit bottoms. At least she had those. Sansa didn’t even want to imagine the jokes Randa would play on her if she’d shown up ass-naked to her house. (It was bad enough Sansa could both hear Myranda’s booming laugh, but also the mischievousness in her words: “Well, sorry Sans, if I’d have known you were finally getting it on with your uncle I’d have postponed. Or asked to join.”)

It was an effort to slide the swimsuit up without sitting up (someone was watching, obviously), but she did. Sansa never felt so simultaneously relieved and wishing to be struck down all at the same time.

Gods.

She ran her hands down her face; her cheeks were still flushed. Up through her hair, freeing stray leaves. Back down, dragging her skin.

If anything, at least Sansa found the proof she lacked of Petyr’s sordid thoughts. (that was a bright side of sorts, right?) No way it was pure shock at what she’d done – any decent person would have glanced away, or called her stupid, or offered something to cover herself up with.

Petyr just...looked. Indulged in the sight of her.

What if he thought her brazen stunt was an  _ invitation? _ Was it just her memory being  _ horrible _ , thinking she saw his fingers twitch? Or his tongue peeking out, wetting his lips in preparation of finally tasting– 

Oh gods oh godsohgodsohgods.

And Petyr had her shorts and her underwear in his hands! He was practically flaunting them as she pulled away with a childish whoop of victory! What was he going to do with them? Toss them with the rest of her laundry? Fold them neatly and lay them on her bed? Use them and the newfound image of her half-naked as he took himself in hand and– 

“Oh godssssssss,” Sansa moaned, as a halfway attempt to shut up her brain. She  _ did not _ \- absolutely  _ did not _ \- want to think of her uncle that way, no, nope, no thank you.

(Are you sure about that?)

“Yes!”

She felt her cheeks grow even hotter, and blast the air conditioning as high as it would go. It wouldn’t do to have Myranda think there  _ was _ something going on. Especially since Myranda  _ did _ think there was something going on; she’d said as much with one look at Petyr when Sansa invited her over once (only once, because of what Randa said): “You know, I’m pretty sure he wants to fuck you.”

“No he doesn’t,” Sansa said immediately. She’d been appalled (not at the frankness of Randa’s words, but at something else. Something Sansa didn’t realize until now what that was).

Myranda only smiled.

_ Well _ , Sansa’s exceptionally horrible mind whispered, _ at least you know for sure what he’s been thinking. And you know how he’ll be spending his day. _

She decided she’d been much better off not knowing.


End file.
